Comfort
by Ilanala
Summary: He wonders if maybe he has misjudged her. Billy learns something surprising about his new boss.


Even under normal circumstances, it would be hard to get any privacy as the President of the Twelve Colonies. Reporters, supporters and protestors have always hounded current and even past presidents wherever they went despite heavy security, making it difficult to keep any aspect of their lives to themselves.

It's even worse now. Granted, it's harder for people to get on Colonial One than it was to reach the government buildings in Caprica City, but the fleet can't afford to set a ship aside for the president, so she has to share with many more people than can comfortably fit on the carrier. She has her own quarters, but with everything that's been happening lately, she's hasn't had a moment free to retreat there and relax. She's either been catching a few minutes of sleep in the main cabin with everyone else or hard at work.

It's more than just the lack of private time and space that's difficult to handle. She's the president now, and everyone is watching her. Some are looking to her for strength; others are waiting to see her fail and prove them right in thinking that she's nothing more than a teacher on a power trip. But regardless of what they think of her, they're all watching and she has to make sure to be presidential despite exhaustion and stress and sorrow over everything she's lost.

Billy sees all this, so on the first morning after they escape the hell of FTL jumps every thirty-three minutes, he decides to let her sleep late. It's easy to do that in space, where there's no sun to pierce through blinds and closed eyelids to wake you up, especially if you're not used to the artificial rhythm of life on a spaceship. It also helps you haven't slept more than ten minutes at a time in over five days.

Of course, Billy is already up by what the clock that is no longer counting down to the next Cylon attack claims is 07:00; even after five days worth of exhaustion, some internal Super-Assistant clock tells him when it's time to be alert and start preparing for all the problems that are sure to arise now that there is no immediate threat. He has a list already, and by 9:00 he thinks rioting might break out of the president doesn't start addressing concerns soon.

He knocks on her door, softly, but she doesn't answer. He's not sure how to proceed now. He's new to this—to the role of personal assistant in general and to now-President Roslin—and he doesn't yet know how she likes things done. Hesitantly, he turns the handle and pushes the door open.

To his surprise, Roslin is already awake. She's sitting on a chair facing the opposite wall, and she hasn't noticed his entrance yet. She looks more relaxed than he's ever seen her; she doesn't seem like a president or a secretary of education or even a teacher, but simply a woman taking advantage of a rare chance to be nothing but herself. He realizes after a moment that she's talking, although too quietly for him to make out the words. Her voice is a steady stream, as though she's reciting something she knows by heart.

_Is she praying?_ Billy wonders. It shouldn't be surprising; religion has always played a large part in life on the Twelve Colonies, with devout people being found in all walks of life. Besides, trying times tend to bring even those whose faith has lapsed back to the fold. After everything that's happened, it shouldn't seem strange for someone in her position to seek comfort from the Lords of Kobol. It's just that Billy has been watching her closely over the last week, trying to understand his new boss, and based on his observations he _is _surprised to find that she's religious enough to pray outside of official ceremonies. He wonders if maybe he has misjudged her.

It occurs to him that he should leave, or at least say something so she knows he's there. This isn't something he, or anyone else, is meant to see, and he's already seen too much. He tries to back out of the room so she'll never realize he was there. Unfortunately, he's not very coordinated on the best of days, and today, when he's still tired enough to feel like he's got the worst hangover of his life, is not the best of days. He hits the door and barely manages to muffle a curse as the handle pokes him in the back.

Roslin is immediately silent, her head snapping over to look at Billy. For a second, she has the look of a deer frozen in a bright light, unable to react, but then the presidential mask drops down and she smiles her usual calm smile at him. "Billy. I didn't hear you come in." There's no reproach in her voice, but he feels guilty anyway.

"I'm sorry, Madam President," he stutters. "You didn't answer when I knocked." He can feel his cheeks getting hot, and he wishes he had her ability to hide his discomfort.

"It's all right, Billy," she says in the measured tones of a leader reassuring one of her people. Her voice doesn't sound much different from her earlier prayers, if that's what they were, except that the comfort is gone. She's no longer reciting lines that come as naturally as breathing, but carefully choosing each word to be sure she gets it right. Even with him, she has to be so carefully guarded, and for a moment he feels terribly sorry for her.

"It's time to get to work," Roslin declares and he pushes his thoughts of pity away. She's far stronger than anyone else has realized yet; that much he's sure about. She has his support, of course, but she doesn't need his pity. "So," she continues, "What went wrong while I was asleep?" Billy pulls out his list, and they start to work.


End file.
